Spring Rain
by AshryverEyes
Summary: Feyre falls ill one day while Tamlin is out patrolling the boarders. Lucien panics and does his best to call in help. The result is something none of them saw coming. [slight ooc] [prompt from tumblr] [tamlin x feyre]


_Prompt:_ _Feyre gets super sick one day and Tamlin gets all worried and she's like hallucinating etc and Tamlin doesn't know what to do so Lucien saves the day._

 _AN: I tried to stick to this prompt as closely as possible. It eventually turns into one sappy mess but that's what happens when you attempt to write fanfic at midnight when you should really be studing…_

 _Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. All credit goes to Sarah J Maas._

 _o_

"What are you but mud and bones and worm meat?"

Black ashes fell from the crest of the mountain as something massive, perhaps a body, ricocheted off the cave walls. Whirls of dust and starlight crowned the top of Feyre's head as she lay prone on the jagged rock floor, body limp. A shrill cry of terror went up, and there was a resounded crack as another piece of their sanctum came tumbling down with an almighty force. Through the chaos, a voice could be heard.

"What are you but mud and bones and worm meat?"

Another crack, this time it was her ribs. The force of the kick borne a spider-web of agony upon her spine. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't even move.

"Say it, you vile beast!"

Blood bubbled up in her mouth and she struggled to forge air through her broken nose.

"Admit your inconstant heart!"

Her eyes burned and she clenched down on her teeth.

More gashes appeared against the snowy surface of her skin, turning her arms and torso into a patchwork of grey and purple and black, adorned with rivers of streaming crimson from wherever the skin slit open. Her body awash with pomegranate blood, her face dull and pale, Feyre stared deftly ahead as the life was drawn from her with every last blow that Amarantha delivered.

The screaming turned into that of the rabbit's, into that of the live's she'd slaughtered in order to free Prythian. Saltwater stung her cheeks as the sobs that fought to escape were swallowed by the wrongness in her lungs.

Rhysand bellowed her name.

Amarantha struck again, painting the space beyond her vision a fine shade of cherry wine.

More crying, more protests.

More pain.

Tamlin, clutching his gaping wound, groveled towards the Faerie Queen, begging her to stop.

Feyre passed out, whether it be from the lack of oxygen or loss of blood or the need to cease listening to the torment of others.

But when she came to, she was clutching the daggers again.

The faeries kneeling in front of her were shivering horribly, one even appearing blurry. Feyre couldn't stop her movements as her arm outstretched hesitantly and she placed the hilt of the dagger against the first faeries heart. She fleetingly noticed that he was a member of the Summer Court, for she recalled the dark blue skin and ink-slick hair of the faerie she'd once held as he died. Now this one would die at her own hands. As if caressing a lover, the knife slid in slowly. The faeries cries peaked, and then fell over the mountain as they descended to a final noise.

Then nothing.

She repeated the steps in a drunken haze with the next one. This time, however, the faerie stared at her. Feyre wasn't certain what Court she belonged to, but if the auburn hair had anything to condone for, she'd guess the female was one of the Autumn Fae. Perhaps that was why two of Lucien's four brothers had stopped cheering for the slaughtering. Feyre didn't pay them any mind as she drew the dagger, now dripping, from the girl's chest.

The last one was still veiled, but Feyre grew rigid as the familiar scent of crisp earth washed over her.

Only this time, when the knife slid in after all those tears and sacred words were shared, Tamlin didn't heal. In fact, the room had gone so still, so unbearably silent, that Feyre had to glance around to make sure there wasn't a fourth contestant. But that couldn't be possible, for there was no one left in the room alive to be killed.

Faeries cluttered the floor, all dressed in gowns of wet red, with evil grins slitting their throats from ear to ear, or chests pried open as if done so by hand. Amarantha was not among the deceased, but her presence, and Jurian's presence, still infiltrated the air as if the crackling winds before a torrent of rainfall. "You killed them, stupid girl. Their blood is on your hands."

"No," Feyre croaked, dropping the knife from her grip. "No. It's not true."

There wasn't a reply.

Feyre was shaking uncontrollably, her entire frame wracking with the force of her building shrieks of horror and agony and grief. Flinching away from the sight of a Winter youngling, perhaps one of the last who'd survived the Blight, her leg tangled against something and she tumbled backwards, landing roughly against slippery limbs and ripped wings. A sob tore through her and she scrambled away, but could never find space without touching a body of some sort.

The hair on her neck prickled as her gaze was drawn towards the figure to her right. His blonde head lolled against the body of another male, one with fiery locks and a fox max, and his chest was punctured repetitively, as though he had been stabbed again and again. The male's leaned against one another, eyes shut peacefully, faces pale in the subtle light of the cave's entrance, and lips slightly parted, as it would be for two boys who'd fallen asleep together after a long day of running in the fields. Feyre knew this was not so.

She screamed, the sound ripping from deep inside her, rupturing from her very core. The cry lasted longer than her lungs permitted, the noise echoing deeply against the silence. Her knees gave out and she crumbled to the bodies below her, mouth still askew as shrieks of pain mangled her throat.

"Feyre."

"NO!"

"Feyre!"

Gore wrapped her like a cloak before she was severed from her dreams by the urgent coaxing of two large hands shaking her. Her eyes flew open, bones shaking, and she gulped down a large supplement of fresh air. The hands on her shoulders became the arms swathed around her, became the heavy rock to her wayward river of dreams.

Tamlin drew her to his chest, curling himself around her protectively. He pressed his face into the crease of her neck, brushing aside the hair that matted against her sweaty neck. Feyre panted, blinking back the images. She was still half in that dream, still seeing beyond what meets the eye.

Her High Lord was murmuring gentle nothings into her ear while stroking the length of her arm with his long, callused fingers. His earthen scent, so much like the aroma of spring dew, bundled her. She clenched her eyes and fell back into him.

"It was only a dream, love." He didn't have to say it, but her heart slowed a bit nonetheless.

Feyre took one last pull of air before going limp in his large embrace. As if in correspondence, Tamlin's hold tightened around her. She allowed him to smother her. She needed someone to be her anchor in all ways possible right now.

She nodded, for she still couldn't speak.

Rain gently misted the windowpanes of their shared bedroom.

He remained silent, and Feyre thought for a wild moment that he'd possibly drifted back asleep, but then he pressed his lips to the warm skin at the base of her neck, lingering. Lips dragged downward and made a trail upon her spine, brushing gently like footsteps gracing the top of fresh fallen snow. He paused suddently, and a moment later his teeth grazed the soft flesh of her hip. Feyre fisted the bedsheets, and stifled a moan.

One of Tamlin's hands remained wrapped around her stomach and the other gently rubbing her side as she focused on what was real, what was around her. Screams still echoed nearby, but she knew he couldn't hear them. The rain had picked up and was now deafening. Tamlin deftly flipped them over so that she was spread out beneath him. She was still looking out the hazy window when she felt his movements above her stop. Tamlin was staring at her intently.

"We don't have to do this."

Feyre leisurely turned to face him…then stopped breathing when she saw just how close they were. Not only saw, but _felt_. He didn't seem to notice, or didn't pay it any mind, as he continued to watch her eyes for any flicker of emotion that would suggest discomfort.

"I want to."

Tamlin frowned.

"Truly, I do." She insisted.

He didn't seem persuaded.

Feyre stared at the pale ceiling.

Tamlin stared at her face.

Her High Lord knew her dreams, so he must know her nightmares. But finding the right words to say seemed far too complicated, especially at such an hour. So she sighed, and shook her head once. "I wish not to talk about it."

Tamlin's green eyes shone with desperation but he remained silent, nodding once.

"Then we won't speak of it. Not until you're ready."

No words of blood or betrayal or reprieve were uttered that rainy morning. Nor were the bedsheets spared in their desperate need to help her forget.

By noon, Feyre was beginning to feel the same sluggish ache that had become her in her sleep. Something was very much off. Alis hadn't seen her all morning since she'd departed from her chambers much later than what was usual. Feyre knew she should find her. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she wasn't shocked to feel the sticky perspiration that came away. Her heart was now an anvil, hammering to an obscure rhythm.

Tamlin and one of his sentinels had gone an hour ago to patrol the northern post. Rumor had spread through the neighboring Summer Court that a strange creature was wandering their woods, trailing corpses in a path towards Spring. Once word had reached his lands, Tamlin was immediately the beast incarnate. He loved his Court, loved his people, and he wouldn't stay indoors while a threat lurked beyond his forests.

Feyre had merely smiled at him and promised to not get too much paint in the foyer. He saw past that fake ease and quickly rushed to her side, lifting her in his arms and planting a great smacking kiss to her forehead. Despite her worry, her cheeks warmed, and Lucien made a gagging sound behind them. Tamlin grinned widely as he set her back to the dirt and rubbed his thumb against the crevice of her jaw. "Get as messy as you wish. This place could always use a little more color, especially if at your hands."

Now as Feyre collected her brushed, she felt nausea unfurl. Her vision clouded and she had to blink back spots, panicking as she did so. Her hands shook, and she tried her best to walk from the room, back to a main hall where someone might find her and get help. But as she did so, her legs gave way and she toppled over, a whole new wave of pain enveloping her.

Something sharp and lightening bright snapped inward, and Feyre screamed.

By the Cauldron, the pain was unbearable. What was happening to her?

Not a moment later, a lanky silhouette filled the door.

The man was quickly on his knees beside her, calling her name.

Feyre saw his one wide eye, saw the bronze hair that fell into it as darkness took her once more.

 _o_

Waking up this time was burdensome.

Cracking one eyelid, Feyre winced against the harsh light that flooded the medical room. She slowly sat up, testing her joints, than muffled a cry as her ribs moaned in protest. Her light green dress from this morning was ripped in places and tangled around her ankles, but it was unmoved as well, which meant although Lucien had found her, Alis was still missing.

The medical room truly wasn't grand enough to be dubbed a room. It was more of a supply closet with gauze and herbal remedies stacked to the eastern wall, right near where enough sunlight was let in. A single cot remained, now occupied by a sickly High Fae. For what else could she be but sick? If it wasn't apparent in the rainy hours of dawn, it most certainly was now.

Perhaps, she thought, this was a side effect to becoming a faerie. Her human organs were replaced when the transformation occurred, but some dregs of mortality could still be clinging to her bones, agitating this new body.

As she was about to swing her legs off the bedpost, a rumpled figure burst into the room.

"I'll have none of that! Get back in bed."

Lucien appeared behind Alis, looking pale.

Feyre grumbled something. "Do I mislead?" Alis yelled back.

"No, I just wish to stretch my limbs." Feyre said.

Lucien placed a placating hand on the Summer faeries shoulder, maneuvering smoothly around her to walk towards Feyre. She eyed him sheepishly. "Sorry about…before."

He chuckled, albeit dazedly. "Not to worry, I've seen my fair share of drunken men to last me the next century. Finding you on a floor was bound to happen at some point, although I'm embarrassed to say I would've imagined Tamlin within range as well."

Feyre glowered but felt a kindling in her heart.

At least Lucien could always brighten the mood…in his own manner.

Hands pressed her down as Alis stood over Feyre's restrained body. Feyre just raised a brow.

"You're conditions haven't been discovered yet," Alis said. "We called in the nearest doctor to observe you, and he should be here any minute now." A blanket was gently tucked around her. "For now, stay in bed. We don't know what's happening to you but I'm not going to be the one who has to face her High Lord's wrath when he finds his beloved was mistreated in her ailment. So hush up and sleep."

Feyre snorted, but complied. This time, however, Lucien remained by her side.

Sometime later, the rain returned, and with it came the silence. Lucien noticed that Feyre never slept, only kept her eyes closed. Minutes passed, and then he began to speak, some old folklore about a fox and a cunning princess. The fox, she noted with no small amount of amusement, was named Lurian.

 _o_

Bundles in a grey cloak, a man no older than her mortal father walked in. His face was weathered but beautiful, adorned with pointy ears and a fragile, speckled ivory nose. Strapped to his shoulder blades was a satchel brimming with papers and jars. Lucien shivered in relief.

"Caldor, thank you for coming on such short notice."

"No need to thank me, I'm simply doing what is expected." Caldor smiled brightly and clapped Lucien on the back as the two men greeted one another.

"I am, after all, in your Lord's debt. He saved my life while I trained with his father's war band. How could I not come when the Spring Court sent for aid?"

Tamlin had mentioned growing up amongst his father's ranks. It didn't surprise Feyre that he made friends along the way, and saved a few lives as well.

The crimson haired Fae glanced towards the still figure on the cot. Caldor followed his gaze and gasped. He stepped forward, raising a hand slightly and then looking back towards Lucien. "Is she the one I've been told about? The mortal girl turned Fae?"

Lucien nodded.

Caldor nearly stumbled in his haste to reach Feyre's side.

"By the Cauldron," he muttered, extracting tools and bottles from his bag as he began his inspection. Feyre remained asleep, although her brows were knitted firmly in a frozen grimace. Lucien lingered nearby, watching the doctor's hands with narrowed eyes. He trusted Tamlin's judgment, but he also followed his own instincts. And instinct told him to watch over Feyre in Tam's absence.

So he remained.

An hour later, Lucien dragged his one eye away from the ivory faerie's hands, glancing towards the flickering sunlight. Storm clouds rolled across the sky, painting the gardens and all their tall stalks of green grass shades of blue and grey. The wind had picked up considerably, causing the branches outside to creak and for some flowers to loosen their petals. It wouldn't be long until the next downpour now, and Tamlin and his sentries still weren't home.

And the doctor still wasn't done surveying Feyre.

Before Lucien could interject, his weariness overflowing, Alis barged in balancing a pot of scolding water on one hip. Surprisingly she didn't speak this time, but her eyes flickered from Caldor to Feyre and back again. Then they rested on Lucien and she nodded towards the door. Lucien frowned and shook his head ever so slightly. Alis glared at him. His resolve wavered, and he settled on meeting her halfway.

The two joined in the hallway, the door propped enough so that Lucien had a clear view of what was occurring within. "What?" He asked quickly.

Alis rolled her eyes. "I need to speak to the doctor privately."

"Why?"

"It is not your concern."

"The hell it's not! If it concerns Feyre, then―"

"Lucien." She deadpanned.

He growled.

She sighed, then with reluctance added, "I might know what's wrong with Feyre."

Lucien stared at her.

A moment later, he paced the length of the corridor, ripping his hair out as he went. Damn Alis.

Tamlin was going to slaughter him if anything went askew while he wasn't near her. But Alis said she might know what was wrong, which meant she might know how to fix it…and Lucien couldn't bargain with that women for the life of him. Still, that didn't keep him from pressing his ear against the thick wooden walls every now and then. Irritatingly, they spoke softly, as if knowing his plans to eavesdrop, faerie hearing be damned.

He waited.

 _o_

Feyre awoke for the third time that day, feeling an emotion she couldn't quite place.

At least she knew she'd cought up on some much needed rest. If anything, her dreams were somewhat peaceful this time around. Instead of a dark faerie queen, there was a fox. But something was still…off. A presence alerted her nearby. She rose stiffly and turned to face Alis alone. Nobody else was in the room.

"Caldor was sent back to the Winter court." She spoke slowly, as if in a daze.

Feyre quirked her head, "Was he the doctor?"

Alis nodded, her eyes alight. "Yes."

Feyre looked on, confused and a little worried about the look on Alis' face. Once again, that sensation of wrongness plagued her.

Feyre swallowed. "And?"

Beads of sweat still tickled her forehead but at least she could think clearly now. Feyre still felt warm, her hands clammy, but her breathing was back to normal which meant the doctor must've cured her, if only a little.

But the wonder in Alis' eyes spoke otherwise, and Feyre watched as the elder faerie reached across the space between them and rested a gentle hand against her stomach. Her wooden fingers pressed softly against the thin fabric, and Feyre felt her own face drain.

"You're pregnant, Feyre. With the first youngling the Spring Court has seen in decades."

Feyre's heart stopped. Stopped, then started, then stopped again.

She opened her mouth, but no words came. Her own hand lifted and delicately rested against her belly, not quite comprehending the grandness of the situation. Tears sprung to her eyes and she let out a sudden laugh. Then she glanced back at Alis, saw the merriment and hope and awe, and felt herself cracking open with the happiness that washed her soul. Lips stretching, Feyre held her midsection as though there already were a child within. "By the Cauldron…I didn't think this was possible." It was more of a question, and she looked to her handmaid for an answer. But there simply wasn't one, as both women quickly gathered.

"Caldor believes your mortal body left behind remnants of fertility. But perhaps it's the gods being gracious. Either way, it is true. You carry the first of the Spring Lord's children. He will be…words cannot describe what he will feel. Come, I will take you back to your chambers so you may rest some more." Feyre felt like sharing that she had slept enough for an eternity, but Alis had already pried her from the bed, more careful than she had ever touched Feyre. "Word will be sent upon his arrival so you may gather your bearings before sharing the news."

 _o_

Once Alis helped get Feyre into bed, treating her as though she were a feather much to Feyre's disapproval, she departed into the hallway. Not a second later did the doors swing open and Lucien stood before her, looking haggard. Feyre chuckled.

"Spying on me, I presume?"

"More like guarding your chambers in case the doctor decides he forgot to inspect some part of you and returns for another examination." Lucien muttered darkly.

Feyre said, "I thought you and Tamlin were friends with him?"

Lucien leaned against the doorframe, "Tamlin knew him a while ago, but who's to say he hasn't changed since then. I wouldn't want to be the one to explain that particular betrayal."

"Lucien, although I'm touched by your concern, Caldor was perfectly fine. As am I, for that matter. Now if you would please shut the door, I'm already tired."

Lucien raised a brow, "So soon?"

Feyre shrugged, although the real reasoning behind her exhaustion had her smothering a peal of laughter and delight. "My mind has been through a lot recently."

Feyre did not sleep this time. After Lucien left, and she made certain he wasn't lingering beyond her corridor, she sat up in bed and began to inspect herself in the adjacent washroom mirror. She didn't know what she was looking for, maybe a slight change in appearance, but her reflection looked exactly the same as it did the day she remerged from her transformation. Cupping her flat stomach in one hand, she dreamt of the months ahead, and of the merriment this news would bring to her court. To her High Lord.

As if the Gods heard her thoughts and agreed, the oaken door drew back, spilling forth candlelight from the hall that flushed out the pale moonlight in the near dark chamber. Feyre hastily pulled down her dress and watched his huge frame enter their rooms.

Tamlin stood, a fierce sight to behold. Blood ran down his right temple, slowly stitching together, and his tunic was shredded in places. His claws were not yet retracted, but his fangs were not present. When he finally saw her, perched upright in middle of the bed, he let out an animalistic sound and lunged for her.

She shrieked as he tackled her back to the mattress, smothering her body with his as he kissed and nipped at skin and hugged as tightly as possible, his arms a cage around her. She giggled into his hair when he buried his face against her chest, drawing her in so that she was straddling him from above their sitting position. His earthen scent washed away any lingering fears or nightmares until it was just him, her High Lord, and the future she now held within her.

"Tamlin," she began, but gasped when he gently bite her neck. _Oh Gods._

"Tam," she repeated, softer this time. He ran his nose up to her ear and back down, nuzzling her. Feyre bit her lip and shoved her face into his golden crown of hair.

It wasn't until his roaming hands drifted near her stomach did she gasp and pull away. He stopped and stared at her, carefully drawing away so that only their legs remained tangled. Upon noticing his hands, she looked back to his now healed temple. "You were bleeding…"

His eyes darkened and his grip around her tightened infinitesimally. "I've never seen anything like it. The creature had the body of a naga but the face of a puca…we killed four of them, regardless. Although I worry we haven't seen the last." He must've noticed her wide eyes, for he quickly added. "But I'll die before you ever have to face one of those things, or even hear it so close to our home."

Feyre closed her eyes, a smiled softly. "I know."

He kissed her forehead.

Before he could speak again, before she lost her nerve, Feyre said, "I was visited by your friend, Caldor, today."

Tamlin froze, a strange look taking hold of his face. "Oh? If I recall correctly, Caldor was our regiment's doctor. What was he doing here?"

Feyre glanced towards the mirror, as if seeking strength in the women she saw moments before. "He still is a doctor, and he came to check on me."

Silence.

She looked back and saw the darkness that swept over Tamlin's face. "You were ill and nobody thought it best to inform me?" He growled.

"Lucien was very attentive and Alis conscribed me for bedrest seemingly all day," she huffed.

"This is why I couldn't find either of them upon my return," Tamlin bit out a harsh chuckle. Feyre was quick to defend them, "I asked them not to seek you out." He raised a brow, still angry but wanting to hear her reasoning. Feyre took a deep breath.

"I wasn't sick, not entirely," he bared his teeth but she hushed him. "After you left, I went to find my brushed and experienced similar pains I had felt this morning."

"What," Tamlin snarled.

She continued, "They weren't too harrowing so I didn't mention them. Now hush, my love." He complied, albeit distraught. "Lucien found me after I'd passed out and had Alis gather a bucket of water to wash me while he sent for aid. I guess you'd informed him of Caldor at some point, and Lucien was lucky enough to remember your friend in the Winter Court. Before long, he found…something. But Alis helped him confirm it, nonetheless."

"What was it?" Tamlin asked hesitantly.

"Truly, it's not something to fear. Quite the opposite, actually."

"Feyre," Tamlin groaned.

She grinned, taking his hand and gently placing it above her stomach, just as Alis had done before.

Tamlin frowned, and she rested her hand above his own, spreading their fingers together. Something dawned on him then, and his eyes slowly, ever so agonizingly slow, dragged up over her stomach, her chest, her throat until they landed on her eyes. He stared at her, and she allowed him this moment of stunned silence. Her face hurt from smiling, although a kindling of fear still burrowed within her. She wouldn't know what to do if he reacted badly.

He couldn't speak, so she did for him.

"I'm pregnant."

And like the morning sun, his face alighted with such a glorious, awed expression that I nearly hurt to look at. His green eyes were shinning, green like wet dew from a fresh mornings rain shower. All of his teeth showed as he smiled, and just like that the hand on her stomach became the arms around her, became the air in her lungs and the flowers in her hair.

"You're..." he swallowed, still grinning madly, "You're carrying my child? Our child?"

Feyre grinned, nodding through her tears. "Yes."

Tamlin attacked her with kisses, less feral than before but with more attention and consistency. She couldn't help it, she attacked him right back. The two of them licked and nipped, bit and caressed until they were breathless from their actions and their stunned laughter. Their hands explored one another, his came to a halt on her stomach and he glanced at her questioningly once before she nodded and he tore her flimsy shift to shreds with a single, delicate claw. He caressed her womb, and she nuzzled into his side, feeling as though she'd just bathed in moon dust.

He knelt in front of her on their bed, and she leaned back against her palms. Tamlin's lips descended the slope of her breasts, against her ribs, and finally came to a rest on her stomach where he delicately placed the softest kiss he'd ever bestowed upon her. More tears stung her eyes, but she couldn't care enough to wipe them away or pretend they weren't there. This…everything that's happened…it seemed too surreal.

He drew her back to his chest and curled himself around her as they laid beside one another, naked limbs entwined in any way possible. "I love you," he whispered into her hair, "god's how I love you." She smiled and brought the hand he'd wrapped around her breasts up to her lips where she bestowed a kiss on each finger. "I love you, my High Lord."

His chest vibrated. "I will live for the day we get the chance to speak these words to our newborn."

"Just wait until the Court finds out," she murmured in a sleepy daze.

He chuckled, tightening his grip. "Fire Night will seem tame."

The two of them remained embracing, curled around one another as the rain let up and allowed a dusting of water for the new harvest of spring flowers to come.


End file.
